The House on the Lake
by operagarnier1831
Summary: A more intimate retelling of when Erik first takes Christine down to his home, and their interactions and feelings towards each other. Switches between Christine's point of view and Erik's. Based mainly on Kay's novel.
1. Not an Angel, Just a Man

A voice. Coming from nowhere at all, and yet filling the entire room. She felt as if the voice was speaking to her very soul. The haunting sound of music, and heaven itself.

"Father?" She cried aloud, "Are you there?"

"No, my dear. Come, and see."

Light. Seeming to fill her entire being, and coming from a place that she had never before noticed. A place that seemed to have just appeared in this moment, but with no actual placement. Suddenly, it was simply there. She followed the light. The voice coaxed her gently onward.

"Christine…believe in me. Follow me, and live! See beauty as you never have known!"

"I believe…angel!" She whispered, her voice seeming to not come from herself. She followed the light and the sound into the mysterious place, and felt her soul being taken over by something she had never felt before. She wasn't quite sure what force she was feeling, it was coming so suddenly, and making her blood as if to tingle.

She followed the voice, and soon realized that she was now out of her dressing room, and had been led into a dark passage. How she arrived there, she hadn't a clue. It was dark, there was a faint hum in the air, but the magic had seemed to stopped almost as suddenly as it had started. The tingling feeling she had felt previously was soon replaced with an emotion not unknown to her, fear.

She turned away from the passage, hoping to find her dressing room behind her, and instead was faced with a brick wall. More fear flooded her small body. She pounded against the wall, terrified as to how this could have happened. When she pounded, she expected to feel brick, but instead felt something strange. The material which met her fists was not brick, but rather something cold, and almost brittle feeling. She moved to strike again, but a voice pierced the air.

"Christine!"

She turned back toward the dark passageway, and in front of her stood a looming figure in black. He stood over a foot taller than her, and yet seemed to be skinner than she was. She looked up to find a face, and her eyes met with glowing yellow spheres, hidden behind a black mask that covered the man's entire visage. She cried out again, backing up against the wall. The figure did not advance on her. Instead he watched her silently, as one watches an animal in a zoo. Then, he spoke.

"Christine…_I_ am your angel. Please, do not be frightened."

Christine froze. She tried to speak but her words did not come.

The man reached out to her after a pause. He did not step towards her, rather lengthened out his long skinny arm to touch her shoulder. His hand was gloved in black leather, yet even through the material, she felt the coldness of his skin. She shuddered beneath his touch. Suddenly, vision started fading, and she felt herself fall to the earth.

Christine awoke in a strange place. She was lying in a bed that was small, yet comfortable. She focused her eyes on the surroundings and tried to discern what had happened. There was nothing in the room save it were the bed, and a small dresser. Looking more closely, she noticed that there were no windows in the room, only a door. Christine stood and looked down at her left hand. It was bandaged, and when she pressed against the flesh, it stung quite badly. She exclaimed slightly, and no sooner than she did, the door swung open. The man was back.

"Christine…you're awake." He said cautiously. He soon noticed her tending her hand, and began to speak.

"You fainted. I caught you as best that I could, but I'm afraid your hand hit the ground rather hard. Just a slight flesh wound though, nothing to worry about."

"Where…am I?" She stuttered. She could remember bits and pieces of the previous events. And this new knowledge of this stranger…her angel?…upset her a great deal. She noticed, that it was quite a bit easier to breathe than usual. Looking down, Christine saw that she was not wearing the full gown that she had been wearing when the voice encroached upon her room. Instead, her corset, and indeed, entire dress, had been taken off, and she was wearing only a fine silk night-robe over her chemise.

"What happened to my dress?" Christine asked, more confused than angry.

The man did not reply.

"I was wearing my gown from going out to supper with Raoul. I went back into my dressing room, and then…I'm here."

The man jerked at the mention of Raoul, and then spoke. His words came out harsh at first, but slowly tapered off into coolness.

"You were going to stop breathing if you stayed in that horrible corset!… I'm sorry, Christine. I did what I felt necessary. Please do not be too upset. Now, would you like some supper?"

Christine stared. It was too much to take in that a mysterious man had dragged her from her dressing room and apparently undressed her while she was unconscious. Finally, she breathed in to speak… but felt the room going black once more.


	2. The Passion of Melody

When Erik heard the girl cry out, he immediately leapt up to go see what had happened. He flung open the door expecting to find her cowering and terrified. Instead, she was simply standing in the middle of the room. He greeted her, and when he noticed that she was tending her wounded hand, he proceeded to explain the events that had occurred in the best way that he could, feeling more and more uncomfortable and unsure of what to do.

For months he had planned and schemed of how to get this glorious creature into his home. And finally, the moment had seemed right. He had waited long enough. Years of teaching her to sing, and watching her develop both vocally…and physically. It was almost one year ago, that he had felt his attitude towards the young girl change. What had been cautious admiration had turned to something deeper, something more powerful. He wasn't sure entirely what it was, but it frightened him.

"What happened to my dress?" He heard her ask.

"_Damn_." He thought to himself.

He listened to her speak, and at the sound of Raoul's name, icy fury filled his heart. His jealousy of the young Vicomte was not something he could easily push aside. He did not expect to speak so harshly to her, yet when he saw the fright in her eyes, he relinquished the grip on his anger. She was already so frightened at the circumstances.

He asked her about supper, and then, saw her start to faint again. This time he was quicker, catching her delicate frame before any part of her could be hurt. He looked down at the light feminine figure he held in his arms. His heartbeat quickened. He had never had her this close before. Indeed, he had carried her limp body back to his home just an hour ago, but he did so in a hurried panic, afraid that her corset would stop her breathing as she was unconscious.

Erik had an issue with corsets. Too many times he had seen the young girls being forced into the devices in the ballet dormitories. Though the girls never seemed to complain, he knew they couldn't be good for the ribcage.

He looked again at her small ivory face. His gaze soon fixed on her lips. Never had another human being's lips looked so inviting. He moved his own face closer to hers, and absent-mindedly motioned towards pressing his lips against hers.

"_What are you doing?_"His mind shrieked.

He quickly laid her on the bed and left the room. How could be so forward? How could he possibly think… Erik sat on a chair with his head in his hands. He felt as though had he possessed normal human emotions, he would have cried. Instead he just sat, trembling ever so slightly. He had no idea what to do with her, so he spoke his options aloud.

"I could take her back up while she sleeps…she'll wake thinking it was an unpleasant dream. Or, I could treat her civilly. Perhaps give her supper like I promised- maybe give her a voice less- _you idiot!_" He screamed to himself, standing up and throwing up his hands in exasperation. "Why did you do this? How can you expect to be a gentleman, when the first chance you get you try to kiss the poor girl?"

Erik walked down the hallway, and opened a door. Inside resided his best friend, the tall pipe organ that would never mock him, never scream at him in horror. He sat down on the bench in front of the instrument and placed his long skeletal fingers on the keys. What he heard played surprised himself.

Erik had an unearthly connection with music. Most of his compositions weren't produced by thought process, but rather by letting his fingers play the music that they wanted to. He was gifted, yes, but his gift had come from much diligent study. For hours as a boy he played the piano to clear his mind from the darkness that surrounded him. As he matured, he read the treatises of the great masters of counterpoint and fugue from the Renaissance and Baroque eras. J.S. Bach was a personal favorite of his, and Erik had long since mastered all of the virtuoso's inventions, and several prelude and fugues.

When Erik played, he expected his music to come out as usual. The usual mood of melancholy discordant madness coupled with piercing forte dynamics. However, this was not the case in this instant. It seemed that just having Christine's presence in the house changed his very creative structure. His music was melodic, not tortured. In it's major tonality and frequent modular mixture, it painted a scene of serenity, and love. Of course, the man did not know much of love, but if he did, he thought that it might sound like what he heard himself playing.

Erik's mind drifted. He thought of her lips. Her full, red lips, which he had come so close to kissing. When Erik had taken Christine out of her corset earlier that night, he was careful to do so quickly so as to not be tempted to look at her indecently exposed body. Of course, he never took her out of her chemise…but looking at her curves through the fabric for a second too long would have proven fatal to his self-control. He wondered what her skin felt like, how her hair would feel on his fingertips.

As his mind pondered this, Erik began to lose control. Unwanted thoughts entered his mind, and he tried to fight them off…but soon they overcame him. _Her slender waist, tapering down to luscious hips…her soft delicate breasts, complimenting the rest of her body in every way. How he longed to feel her closely. Feel her skin on his hands. Feel her hands on him…_

As he came back to reality he was struck suddenly aware of the music that was now coming from the organ. The music had started had started so sweetly…but as he drifted, it turned sensuous. Lust had consumed him, and his music reflected it. Every note that sounded was full of forbidden passion and racing pulses. He immediately lifted his hands to stop the music, staring at them as if in disbelief that they were his own. He felt a throbbing in his trousers, and became aware of how just how far he had slipped. Again he put his head in his hands, ashamed and embarrassed. And then, the door opened.


	3. Strange Feelings

Christine was awakened by beautiful music. She opened her eyes, and recognized the bed and dresser that she had seen before.

"_I must have fainted again_", she thought to herself.

She sat up on the bed, listening to the music which poured through the walls. It sounded to her like a spring morning. The melody brought back memories of her childhood spent in the forests and fields of France, with her Father. She smiled at the thought. As she continued to listen, the music seemed to shift. In her mind was a picture of daylight, of flowers and babbling brooks… but slowly the picture began to morph into something else, something that she was not familiar with. She felt a stirring within her as the new music progressed. Her heartbeat quickened.

"_What is this? Surely, the music itself can't be having this affect on me…"_

She tried to fight the strange sensation, but it overwhelmed her. She stood up and walked to the door. As if pulled by an invisible force, she opened the door and followed the sound down the long dark hallway of the house she was in. She soon found the source of the music, and stood outside the door, unsure of what to do. She felt short of breath, as though her chest was on fire. She felt a sensation between her legs that she had never before felt. It was terrifying, and yet it was wonderful. No sooner had she gained the courage to open the door, the music stopped. As soon as it did, all the feelings she had previously felt also stopped. The curiosity became too much to bear, and she pushed open the door.

The masked man was sitting at the organ, head in his hands. He whipped around to look at her when she opened the door. His yellow eyes glowed ferociously, and he quickly stood up and looked down at her.

"How dare you barge in here like this!" He yelled.

Christine froze.

"Get out!" He gestured violently towards the door.

She turned and ran back into her room, thanking God when she found a lock on the backside of the doorknob. She locked it, and crumpled onto the floor sobbing.

"_Idiot!_" She thought to herself, "_Why didn't you run to find an exit from this horrible place?_"

She cried on the floor, unsure yet again of anything.

"_Who is this man…this monster."_


	4. A Proper Gentleman At Times

As Erik saw her in the doorway, fear filled his mind. He did not know how much she had heard, how much she had…_felt_…God forbid. He knew his music was powerful, and he had never exposed Christine to anything less than beauty in all the years he had taught her. He never wanted to poison her mind with the darkness that music could bring. And now, as she innocently stood in the doorway, he was afraid lest he had scarred her innocence forever. He screamed at her to leave and she turned and ran out of the room.

As soon as the slam and lock of her door was heard, Erik felt himself go weak. He leaned against the wall for support.

"_Imbecile. Idiot. Lunatic. You bring her down here and yell at her? How could you have let this happen? How could you have let yourself slip?_"

He sighed, and stood up straight once more. He knew that he had to do something, lest he ruin his chance with the girl forever.

"_Chance. Ha!_" He laughed at the thought. "_As though a creature like her…_"

He stopped his thoughts as he heard his own fist knocking gently on Christine's door. No answer. He knocked slightly louder.

"Christine. Please…forgive me. I have so much to explain. I am sure you are frightened to death, and I cannot begin to express my regret for all of this…but…I… simply think that it would be wise for you to let me explain." He spoke softly.

"I…don't…understand." She spoke through sobs. Hearing her weeping pierced through Erik's heart like a knife.

"I know, Christine. First, let me begin by introducing myself properly. I _can_ be a proper gentleman at times, you know. And I think now would be an appropriate time to be so-" He caught himself rambling and took in a breath. "My name is Erik. I am the one who has been teaching you all of these years. I am your Angel of Music."

"I know that. I recognized your voice the first time I saw you in the passageway earlier this evening. You stopped me from pounding again on the wall…"

"Ah, yes." He spoke cautiously, debating on whether or not to reveal the secret of the two-way mirror that she was actually pounding on. He had been afraid that she would shatter it. "I did not want you to hurt yourself."

"I fainted…after that…yes?"

"Yes, and I explained this before. I carried you down here, and…put you into the night-robe you wear now…and then laid you to bed."

"Yes, thank you for showing concern. Those corsets can be rather constricting." Her sobbing had stopped. She spoke louder and more confidently, but showed no signs of wanting to unlock and open the door.

"I offered you supper, but you fainted again. I left to play music and-" He stopped himself.

"That music. Who was it's creator?"

"I'm afraid that I cannot answer that."

"And why not? It was beautiful. It reminded me of my Father…" She drifted off.

Realizing that she was talking about the beautiful music he had first created, he allowed himself a shred of comfort. "_Perhaps she did not hear the rest._"

"That music, was written by me. Although I must say that it is the first of it's kind. My compositions are not usually that…cheerful."

"And…the rest of the music. The melody that was playing before I opened the door."

Erik felt his heart beat faster. What was he to do? What was he to say?

"What about it?" He snapped.

"I…Nothing." She sensed his anger, and wishing to avoid it, stopped the conversation. Obviously the man did not want to speak of it. "You said your name is Erik?"

"Yes. That is what I have been called all of my days. And being called such, I assume it is my name."

"It's a pleasant name." She said through the door.

Pleasant. That was new. Never had he thought that so benign of an adjective could be associated with him. Monstrous, loathsome, devilish, those words were familiar….but pleasant? The thought brought a faint sort of smirk to his lips.

"I'm glad you think so. Now, I will ask you again. Would you like some supper, Miss Daae? Please, do not faint this time."

She laughed slightly. "I am feeling slightly peckish, yes. Supper would be lovely."

The lock slid out of place, and the doorknob turned. As the door opened, Erik knew that there was no going back to the way that things had been just hours ago. Whatever happened, she knew that he was a real man, there was no more Angel façade to hide behind.

Erik laughed to himself at the irony of not having something to hide behind. Isn't that what he was always doing? Hiding his soul? Hiding his_ face_? He wondered why Christine had not asked about the mask in amongst her other questions. Perhaps she was being polite. Perhaps she was petrified that he would lose his temper again. Either way, he was silently grateful that she hadn't brought it up.


	5. The Lake

Christine opened the door warily. So much had happened, and she was cautious of the masked man. However, she was famished, and leaving her room to face the man was worth it for the prospect of supper. Besides, he was the one who had been teaching her all these years, and even if his form had changed, he was still her tutor to whom she owed so much.

Thinking on this fact concerned her. This man had known her for so long, and she knew nothing about him. In every lesson they had had, he always seemed to know what was going on in her life. When she was having a bad day, or missing her father, her Angel of Music was always there with kind and encouraging words. He had told her that with his help, she would conquer Paris. Now he was merely a man. He had a man's name, and a man's body.

"If you will wait in my drawing room, I will have supper prepared shortly. I'm sorry, it won't be anything too extravagant. It will sustain you however." He said to Christine, snapping her out of her thought.

"Yes, thank you, Erik." She felt so strange saying his name. He was a stranger to her, and yet he was her best friend. It was difficult to merge the gap.

Christine followed the man to his drawing room, and he directed her to a chair.

"Excuse me." He bowed slightly, and walked away through a door.

Christine was left alone with her thoughts again. "_My Father always said he would send the Angel of Music, and until now, this man was my Angel. Perhaps he was a friend of my Father's. Although…my father died so long ago. Is it possible that he appointed me a guardian? But…why would he have tricked me into thinking that he was a spirit? And…how has he taught me? If he was a spirit, the voice in my dressing room could be explained. But a man…I've never seen him before!_

She began to remember how she had ended up here in the first place. She had heard her Angel's voice, and then went….through…her mirror? She remembered pounding on the brick wall when she was in the dark hall, and feeling how brittle and cold it was…like glass. Christine had heard of two-way mirrors, often found in shady places such as brothels where the managers would spy on their women while _working _for sexual thrills. Remembering this, and determining that the only possible way the lessons could have worked were through such a device, she panicked.

Christine stood and ran towards the door that seemed most likely to lead to the front. She turned the doorknob and was relived when she felt it turn under he hand. The door flung open, and she was faced with blackness. Christine had no idea where she was, other than a small and barely furnished house with a _pervert_. She knew it was night, and assumed that she had been taken to a home in the outskirts of Paris, by the countryside. There was a light far off, and she assumed it to be a streetlight. Knowing this, Christine ran towards it, hoping to be safe until she found the buildings of the main city.

She ran for only five seconds, and then felt the ground vanish beneath her. What met her body was cold, and wet. Suddenly she couldn't breathe, and was faced with the horrifying reality that she had been plunged underwater. She began to swim to the surface, but felt her limbs unable to move in the manner that her mind wanted them to. The water was ice cold, and seeming to freeze her muscles in place. She became increasingly more terrified, and yet felt her consciousness slipping yet again.


	6. Chinese Furniture

Erik led Christine to his drawing room, and allowed her to sit. He had never had anyone else in his home before besides the Daroga. And when he came to visit, he knew better than to ask to sit down. The chair that Erik had in his home was covered with very expensive fabric, embroidered with ornate Chinese designs. The wood was hand crafted from bamboo. Erik had always been fond of the Orient, and had used his power over the opera house's managers to secure a quite comfortable salary to be able to purchase the finest objects for his life. With his hideous face, he preferred to be surrounded by things of beauty. He was extremely particular about his clothing. He would settle for nothing less than the latest mens fashions in Paris. He had attained correspondence with a tailor some years ago after taking up residence in the opera house, and could always trust him to provide the latest styles immediately after they were available. Looking down at the fine silk dress shirt, and delicately embroidered jacket that he currently wore, he was almost offended that Christine hadn't complimented him.

"_You kidnapped her you idiot._" He remembered.

He had been preparing a small dinner of bread, cheese and fruit, but was interrupted by the sound of the front door being thrown open. He immediately ran out to his drawing room, expecting, and finding the worst. Christine was gone, and the door hung open. He ran outside, knowing that there was no way Christine would survive being in the freezing cold lake for very long. And he _knew_ that was where she had ended up.

"Christine! Christine!" He cried out.

He had built his home on the lake in confidence, complete with several traps and obstacles to prevent cast members from the opera from _accidentally _stumbling on his residence. The lake had naturally occurred, being several stories underground, and yet Erik found it the best defense he had by far. And he knew how dangerous it was. He strained to see where Christine had fallen in, looking for signs of bubbles, ripples, anything. To his horror he found stillness.

"_Dear Lord…am I too late?_" His mind was panicked. This was not a normal reaction for him. A few people had already wandered down to his home, and accidentally fallen in the lake. One particularly obnoxious old man had come down _looking for him_. And when he heard the water turn still, Erik had laughed to himself. And now…he wished with all his being that he hadn't built his house on a lake.

Finally he spotted a glint of white through the black water. She was too far to reach from where he stood, so he did the only thing he could. Erik dove into the water and squinted through the darkness to see her limp form. He was grateful that his body had somewhat adjusted to the dark and cold through all the years. still, it was _freezing_. He grabbed onto Christine's body and dragged her towards the surface. He was careful to keep her head above water, and was relieved when he felt her cough slightly to expel water from her lungs. Still, she remained unconscious. As soon as he reached the shore, he threw Christine irreverently over his shoulder and headed back into the house.

Laying Christine on the bed once again, he started to panic. In a fit of adrenaline he had jumped into the lake, and by sheer will to rescue Christine he had been able to fight off the shock of the near freezing water. Now however, he felt it starting to sink in. He knew that if he didn't warm himself, he would suffer unpleasant consequences. There was no time, Christine was unconscious and undoubtedly in shock. And the first thing he had to do was get her out of her wet clothes.

"Damn it, damn it, damn it!" He cursed out loud. Never had he planned things to go this way. Then again, he hadn't really planned anything after the initial plan of bringing her down to his home. Being faced with having to take Christine out of her corset was bad enough, and at least he had not seen any of her _indecent _parts. And now what was he to do? Let her die? Let her die because he was afraid? No.

He resolved to not look. First he needed something to change her into. He silently thanked the obsessive bizarre impulse that had caused him to buy various articles of woman's clothing for Christine. He had always dreamed of taking her down here, of having her live here, even. And he knew that she would appreciate having her own room with a dresser full of beautiful clothing to wear. He assumed that she had not looked in the dresser when she had locked herself in the room earlier, since she had not asked him about the clothing. However, maybe that was why she ran away…

"There's no time to wonder about such things!" He cursed his stupidity, and went to the dresser to pull out another dressing-robe and a pair of thick stockings. But, she was soaking wet, and these would not change that. He suddenly remembered the stash of blankets that he had acquired over the years and kept in a chest in a far room of his home. Erik had no need for blankets, being that he hardly slept, and when he did…well…the lining of the coffin he slept in was more than warm enough.

He ran to fetch the blankets, carrying an armful back to where Christine lay pale on the bed. He saw her breathing, but shaking slightly. Knowing that he couldn't stall any longer, he lifted her into his arms and removed her night-robe. She still remained in her soaking chemise, which clung to her body and exposed her every womanly feature. Luckily, Erik found that he was too focused on saving her life to be aroused. Out of whatever shred of common gentlemanly decency he possessed, he closed his eyes before lifting the chemise off her cold body. He groped for the blankets which sat next to him on the bed, and quickly wrapped Christine in them. Once he was sure that he couldn't see her skin, he opened his eyes and began attempting to dry her off.


	7. The Finest of Coffins

((Thank you for reviewing. And thank you for the grammar mistake that was pointed out, it's fixed now. This chapter will also be Erik's point of view. And Christine will not faint anymore.))

Once Christine was sufficiently dried off, Erik laid the rest of the blankets on top of her and tucked the edges into the curves of her body to trap in more heat. He moved her hair up on top of her head so that the damp tresses wouldn't be in her face as she rested. He wasn't used to being a caretaker. Once long ago, a little boys' life was entrusted to him and his healing, and he had killed him. Reza…the Daroga's son. Erik was silently terrified that Christine would befall the same fate. It seemed to him that his hands were only capable of death.

Erik hadn't believed in God for many years. Too often he'd seen even the most stalwartly faithful believers end up sick, impoverished, and miserable. And God had certainly never spared him even one second of His time. Although it was easier to think that God simply didn't exist rather than recognize the fact that he had been abandoned by Him, Erik still hoped that some good could come to him. Indeed, if Christine was alright, and learned to love him…he would change his entire life.

"_God- she hasn't done anything wrong. Believe me, I know that I am despised of you. I've seen it through and through. I am indeed an evil man. But if you let her love me- she could redeem my soul. Man's hatred has made me this monster, but her love…could save me._" Erik silently prayed.

He began to shake. Erik snapped out of his righteous reverie and looked at his hands. They were quickly losing the little color they had to begin with, and starting to go entirely numb. His concern for the girl had distracted him, but now that he had a small sense of peace with her being dry and somewhat warm, his body was reminding him that he was freezing.

Erik stood up, nearly falling over from not being able to feel his frozen feet. He hurried to his room to get dry clothing, stripping off his dripping garments in the process. He secured dry trousers, a dress shirt, and jacket. He had forgotten the need to dry off his wet skin before putting on more clothing, and now cursed the fact that he had used all of the dry blankets on Christine. He felt slightly warmer now out of his soaking wet clothes, but was still shaking from lack of heat.

As much as he loathed himself, Erik had an iron will when it came to survival. He had had several opportunities to end his life, it would be all too easy for him while living down here. No one cared about him anyway…but then _they _would win. They would have their opera ghost gone, and would go on living life casting people like Carlotta to sing, ignoring Christine, and not having props flung down onto the stage from the cat walk. Their lives would simply be too boring without him. And now, there was Christine. Even if she did not love him, he respected the girl too much to let her wake up to a dead, naked murderer in a house that she had no idea how to escape from. No, he had to get warm. Finally noticing his cloak thrown over his mahogany desk, Erik picked it up and wrapped it around his body. He stepped into the black coffin that he slept in and closed the hinged lid. The same streak of vanity that caused Erik to purchase only the finest articles of clothing for himself was the same streak that possessed him to buy the most intricately made coffin in all of Paris. Made of imported wood from Israel, it had cost him a small fortune. Fine black silk from Persia lined the inside, and provided him comfort in the rare times that he actual slept. Now, it provided him some warmth. He was cautious not to fall asleep, for he feared Christine finding him lying in the coffin would be even more frightening than finding him dead on the floor. While laying inside, he used his cloak to dry himself off as best as he could while confined to such a small space. He reached up to his head to remove his black wig and dry off his scalp, and to his horror found that his mask was not residing on his face. Usually, the feeling of it's absence would have startled him immediately, but because of the numbness in his body, he hadn't noticed. It wasn't the fact that he had lost the mask that upset him, but rather that he had been in Christine's presence without it on. Provided, she was unconscious…but still. The thought was unbearable. Erik couldn't stand being rendered immobile any longer. He thrust open the lid to the coffin and climbed out. Standing naked, wigless, and maskless, he began dressing. He was brought to a halt by a noise from Christine's room. Her small voice.

"Erik…what…how…ahhh."


	8. You Owe Me Everything

Christine awoke to a room now familiar to her. It took her only seconds to remember what had happened. She recalled running out into the darkness, only to be engulfed by freezing water. Of course she didn't consciously know how she had been transported from the water to the warm bed, but she assumed that her masked friend had played his part. She thanked him silently, and then began to do so out loud.

"Erik…"

Startled, she noticed that her clothing was missing.

"What…"

She could only imagine that it would have been a death sentence to stay in her freezing and wet clothing from before, but it was still disconcerting…especially considering why she had tried to run in the first place.

"How…"

She began the question, only to realize that she wasn't sure how to finish it. _How was I rescued? _She guessed it didn't really matter…she was just glad to be safe. _How did I end up naked? _She supposed she already knew that answer. _How am I going to leave this room without any clothing? How did I fall into a _lake_?_ Too many questions.

"Ahhh….." She feebly murmured.

"Christine, please don't be startled. Are you alright, child?" She heard him ask from down the hallway.

"Yes, I believe so. Thank you for rescuing me, as I assume you did. Unless there is someone else in this house that I am not aware of."

"No…there is only me. You are welcome…but…please. Why were you trying to run away? I was just in the middle of preparing dinner. And you should know better than to go tripping into lakes when you are five stories underground!"

"What…underground? What!" Her tone became panicked once more. "I _ran _because I was frightened! I was frightened because you kidnapped me, and brought me here, undressed me…_and you have undressed me again, haven't you?_ How dare you compromise my honor!"

She knew perfectly well why he had undressed her, both times. However, she was upset, and that was enough to make her lose sight of her logic.

"I have done no such thing. Think of me what you will, but I remain your Angel of Music. You owe _everything _to me. First your voice, and now your life." His tone was cold, and she knew that he was much closer than he had been previously. He seemed to be right outside the doorframe, where the door hung open and showed the hallway. She was still naked underneath her pile of damp blankets, and feared lest he would come in the room. However…he did not.

"_Maybe he is a gentleman…"_ Christine wondered.

"I know that you are not decent. And I do not think it necessary to have to explain my actions to you, considering I saved your life. However, if you _must _know. I did not lay eyes on you. I have not compromised your integrity, Christine. I merely tried to help."

"Ah…I…I'm sorry. Yes. I believe you. I fear I must remain in this bed until my clothes are dry, however."

"Your dress from earlier is in the wardrobe. You may put that on again if you would like…or there may be another dress that would suit your tastes. Think nothing of it, I am simply…enamored… with…fashion." His voice betrayed his discomfort of the situation.

"Thank you, Erik. I will be dressed shortly, and meet you in the drawing room. Please…if you don't mind, step away from the door so I may close it and dress privately?"

"Yes of course." His voice was already far down the hallway.


	9. Thoughts on Monsieur Daae

Erik was fighting off his annoyance. How dare Christine accuse him of compromising her integrity? Especially when he had worked so hard so keep his composure around her. Ah well, she had been through a traumatic experience…

"_As if I haven't been through trauma? If I were here- I would be throwing myself at myself in gratitude for the music I had given me!" _Erik paused and thought about how ridiculous the thought had sounded. He began to put on his full formal dress, and secured another mask and jet black wig on his head. Christine's small cry from earlier had interrupted his dressing routine, and he had reluctantly stood in the hallway shirtless, and his face unmasked. He knew that Christine wouldn't get up from bed while naked to go looking for him, so he had allowed himself to rush to talk to her before being "proper".

He carefully put on a clean linen shirt and black vest, and then slipped into a delicately embroidered jacket. Black leather gloves and boots completed his outfit. It was at these times when he ironically wished for a mirror to make sure he was as dapper looking as he imagined himself to be. Then again, perhaps it was better to simply imagine.

"Christine…please tell me when you are ready." He called down the hallway.

"I am, Erik. Shall I meet you in the drawing room?" "Ah, yes." He stepped into the hallway once more, and glanced at Christine who stood beautifully in the hallway. He noticed that she had put on one of the dresses that Erik had bought for her. Although, he wasn't sure if she had caught onto the fact that he had bought them _specifically _for her yet. He hoped that his "being enamored with fashion" comment had deceived her, but he knew that Christine was not an imbecile.

"This dress is beautiful. Where did you get it?"

"As I said, I am enamored with fashion." He motioned to his own clothing. "Call me vain if you will, but managing an opera house seems to warrant being at least a semi- well-dressed individual."

"You, manage the Opera House? I'm sorry, I'm afraid I don't understand. The new managers P-"

"Those buffoons seek to ruin the very art of opera itself! They only care about the profits. Selling as many seats as possible while casting such atrocities as Senora Carlotta. Although, it seems that being a threatening apparition does have its benefits from time to time."

"You- it was you who caused Carlotta's illness! I have never known her to be sick before tonight. You wanted me to sing Marguerite in _Faust_…"

"Yes my dear. And you triumphed. I have been trying to find the time to tell you ever since I called you from your room. Although it seems certain complications have prevented that…"

Christine smiled at him. She actually…smiled. Erik had always fancied himself to possess a sort of dry, morbid sense of humor, but found that few appreciated it. Nadir especially hated his jokes, the boring old fart.

"Yes. Complications have ensued. However, you were right about what you said before. I do owe you everything. You have saved my life, in more ways than one. When you started teaching me…I…was so empty. My grief had begun to consume- I'm sorry." She looked away as she began to tear up at the memory of her father.

"Ah…Christine. Do not be sorry for your grief. I know you loved your father. You have told me many times in our lessons about him, and I believe that he was a great man. And trust me…not many men receive that thought from me."

"Yes, he was indeed a great man. And although I know now that you are not the Angel of Music I once thought you to be, my father must have sent you nevertheless. Why else would I have deserved such a talented man to come into my life and teach me?"

Erik shuddered at the thought. He knew about Christine's father only through the stories and reveries she had shared with him on occasion. He was half-lying with what he had said to Christine about knowing her father was a great man. What would Mr. Daae have thought had he known about Erik's feelings toward his daughter? Surely he would not have condoned the happenings of this night.

But ah…without her father's death…Christine would never have ended up in the opera house. And he would not be here, his heart feeling like it would explode out of his chest with the love he felt for this magnificent woman.

"_Thank you, Mr. Daae…" _He silently thought.


	10. Supper

Christine was lost in a reverie. This man had shown more faith in her than she had in herself. Through him, she had sung the leading part in _Faust_, and was adored by all. She had been bombarded with flowers and adoring kisses on her hands as she had walked through the grand foyer after the opera was done. She remembered the way Raoul had looked at her as he congratulated her, and how he had slipped her arm in his after asking her to supper.

"_Raoul will be so pleased when I tell him I have met my tutor!"_

Christine had previously told her dear friend about the Angel of Music, but he had been wary about believing her. The dear thing, he had wanted to show her that he would treat anything she said as scripture, but the concept of a mysterious disembodied voice giving Christine lessons had made the Vicomte giggle a little as she was telling her story.

"_Now he will believe me." _She smiled at the thought of proving herself right, as well as the prospect of Raoul meeting such a wonderful man. Although, Raoul did like to worry. He would probably be furious at her for staying down with this man as long as she had. She would be sure to point out that he had saved her life, but maybe omit the two occasions that he had undressed her while he was unconscious.

"Erik?" She asked

"Yes, Christine?" He snapped out of thought and looked at her.

"Are we still preparing for supper?"

"Of course, of course. Excuse me, I was simply, thinking about something."

"So was I, it seems…"

"Well, I trust that we are both quite done with thinking for the moment. Please mademoiselle, accompany me to the drawing room once more. And do…mind...the lake, if you please."

Christine blushed in embarrassment. "I'm sorry, Ang- Erik. So much has happened tonight, so many illusions have shattered to reveal such a simple and wonderful truth. I did not trust you fully yet, and I became frightened. That is why I tried to leave."

"I do understand, my dear. However, I must advise against putting your complete trust in me. I know you are young, but you are not a fool. You know nothing of me or my…" He saw her eyes start to widen with apprehension. "Do excuse me, it is just that…well, one makes more enemies than friends when holding the position of 'The Opera Ghost'. I do not mean to worry you… I will never hurt you, Christine."

"You have proven that to me already, you do not need to reassure me."

He nodded slightly, and motioned for her to follow him to the drawing room. She acquiesced, and sat down on the same chair that she had when previously waiting for supper in the drawing room.

"Would you like some help with supper Erik?"

He responded by walking into the room holding a silver tray.

"No, that will not be necessary…seeing as I am quite done. It is not a very ornate supper, but I expect you are hungry, so please eat as much as you desire."

"Thank you, Erik. I am quite famished."

Christine picked up an apple and began to eat, and soon moved on to the cheese and olives set neatly on the platter. She began to pick up a prawn off the platter, but noticed that Erik had not touched any food.

"Erik, why don't you eat? Surely you must be hungry."

He laughed and smiled slightly at her. Even his laugh was like music, and Christine felt her heart begin to beat faster.

"Oh Christine. I am made of flesh and bone, but you may find that I share more characteristics of an actual ghost than a human being. Eating does not suit me, and I keep food around mostly as a formality, you see."

She looked at him incredulously. He was growing to be more and more of an enigma, and she was beginning to find him more and more endearing as time went on in the underground house by the lake.


	11. More Than Technique

Erik watched Christine eat. He watched as she carefully selected bits of food and daintily put them to her mouth. Even though he was sure that she was practically starving, she retained all the grace and dignity that her Father had instilled in her so many years ago.

Suddenly the thought hit him, _I have discussed nothing of Faust since she has been here. Damn my stupidity…I must not let myself get distracted._ He snapped his head to look Christine directly in the eyes.

"Christine there are several things that I have failed to discuss with you regarding _Faust._ Do not think for one moment that your recent success means that you have learned enough from me. Quite the opposite in fact. It's true, your voice is good… and so is your technique. _However, _I will not tolerate anything less than hearing your entire soul be exploited through your voice. You _will_ conquer Paris Ms. Daae, I will make sure of it."

He watched her slowly put down the slice of cheese she was holding and meet his gaze. _Those perfect blue eyes…what was I talking to her about before? Damn!_

"I am quite aware that I am not finished with my lessons. I am indeed grateful for my success, but I have much more to learn, if you will be willing to teach me again, Master."

_Right…that's what I was speaking about. Eugghh._ "Shall we rehearse then? _Fidelio _ is underway for rehearsals soon, no breaks for opera companies I'm afraid. And do not think that Carlotta will allow you to secure the part of Leonore without some kind of tantrum. And you must be dramatic. Leonore is dramatic, fearless. She is the heroine you see…not a lust object like Marguerite."

He saw Christine blush. _Right…innocence. Mon Dieu she is beautiful…_

"I understand completely, Master. I am open to your teachings always! What aria shall I prepare for the auditions? I'm afraid I am not entirely familiar with all the music of Beethoven's opera. I just barely finished my role as Marguerite tonight…or yesterday night? I'm afraid I don't even know what time it is."

"Christine! This is entirely what I am trying to avoid! I will not see you turned into a blind diva like Carlotta! She cares _nothing _for the music…only for fame and wealth! She sings what is written on the page, and all the while is imagining how she will look in her costume! She knows nothing of the composers of the music, or the characters she portrays! That woman-"

"Master do not think me a fool!" Erik was astounded by her blatantly cutting him off. "I am not familiar offhand with the leading lady's arias simply because I have not been so swell-headed to _assume_ that I would be singing Leonore's part! I am still in shock after Marguerite!"

"Ah…Well. I am very glad to hear it! Shall we get on with our lesson then? Please, if you are done dining…follow me. And may have our first proper lesson with an instrument. Please…do not inquire about how I got it down here. It is not a story I wish to explain when we have more pressing matters to attend to."

_She continues to prove herself. Indeed, we may conquer all of the world with her voice!_


End file.
